


What's in a Name

by stmurr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek's Manpain, Frottage, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stmurr/pseuds/stmurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek <i>knew</i> it was a bad idea to have it done. Well, not a bad idea but not a good one either.</p>
<p>"-mierz tattooed on. Your. Chest?!"</p>
<p>Wait. What?</p>
<p>"What the Hell, man? Why the fuck do you have Stiles' name tattooed on your body? Don't you know that's <i>permanent</i>?!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in a Name

**Author's Note:**

> Around ninety-eight percent of this was written before Season 3 so I've completely ignored everything about this season.
> 
> Thanks to Sapphirescribe and Donnersun for the encouragement, betaing and pre-reading. Since December. Eight months for this crap. Jeebus. Any and all mistakes are mine because I'm possessive that way and usually too distracted to fix what they told me to.
> 
> I am not Jeff Davis.

Erica was still shaky after her escape from the Alpha Pack two weeks before. Even though she was physically unharmed when she stumbled out of the woods next to the house, she had trouble letting go of her wolf, frequently picking fights with Scott and Isaac or ghosting along silently behind Derek as he moved around the property.

Derek knew what she was doing, knew she was trying to re-establish her place in the pack, but it didn’t make it any easier when she snarled and snapped at her packmates. It didn’t make it any easier when he woke up to find her naked in his bed, her anxious growls becoming heartbroken whines when he gently but firmly dressed her.

(He _did_ cuddle her after she was dressed, ok? He wasn’t an asshole, he just wasn’t interested and neither, he knew, was she.) 

After two weeks, he reluctantly told the rest of his pack to make themselves scarce so he could concentrate on getting _Erica_ back. They didn’t like it, of course they didn’t, but they agreed after Erica tackled Scott and clawing viciously at his chest when he argued with Derek.

They continued on, just the two of them, with Derek frequently checking in with the others by phone for over a month. For the first few weeks, he couldn’t leave her at all so Stiles made deliveries to the territory line. He’d drop off the groceries or laundry or supplies from the hardware store and leave before Derek (and Erica) got there to pick it up.

Erica slowly, very slowly, got better. She never quite let go of her wolf but she stopped growling at the scents (StilesScottIsaacStilesJacksonLydia _Stiles_ Jesus, what did he do? Roll around on it?) that covered the supplies.

By the time Derek found out that Boyd was still alive and still being held by the Alpha Pack, Erica had been back for just shy of two months. She wasn’t quite ready to be around the rest of the pack but he felt comfortable enough to leave her alone on his territory long enough to hammer out a rescue plan with Scott, Isaac and the Argents.

As the hours and the arguing dragged on, he started to get antsy. Sure, he’d left Erica alone at times for quick trips into town but never for this long. By the time they had a tentative plan, he’d been away from Erica for more than four hours.

Tired, aggravated and more than a little anxious, he broke nearly every traffic law to get back home. He fishtailed on the turn from the main highway to the small drive leading to his house, only to slam on the brakes and spin out of control when he caught sight of Stiles’ jeep parked on the side of the road.

Shit.

Shit.

_Stiles._

He abandoned his car, knowing he’d get to Stiles faster by running through the woods than he would by sticking to the road.

He saw visions of Erica covered in blood, Stiles’ sightless eyes staring accusingly at him, Stiles and Erica _gone_. From one step to the next he shifted, dropping to run quadrupedal to cover the distance faster.

“So, do you think this’ll stay when you shift?”

At Stiles’ voice, Derek slammed to a stop so quickly, he tipped over and slid on his side until he came to a stop at the edge of the clearing. He shook his head, trying to dissolve the auditory hallucination when he heard Erica answer.

“I don’t know. I - I never tried it.” She sounded tired and so, so tentative but there was no trace of the growl that had comprised her vocalizations for the last two months.

“Really? Huh. That’s kinda surprising actually.” Stiles mused. Derek could hear his heart beating steadily, calmly.

Erica sounded defensive when she answered, “I was never really into the whole girly thing. It didn’t seem important before.” Her heart was starting to beat faster, anxious.

“S’not what I meant, dude. Chill.” Stiles chided gently, heart steady. “I’m just saying _I_ would’ve tried it if I were all, you know, _rawr_.”

Erica let out a rusty giggle. “I’m surprised Scott didn’t do it.”

Stiles laugh rolled through the forest. “I tried. No go.”

Derek finally slunk forward and peered around a large oak into the clearing.

Stiles was hunched over with Erica’s foot in his lap, hand steady as he delicately painted her toenails a bright electric blue. As Derek watched, Erica reached out and rested her hand on the vulnerable back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles didn’t miss a beat, chattering on happily about the history of nail polish while Erica stroked his hair.

Derek felt his heart swell. He sat at the base of the oak and watched his lost beta find her way home.

***  
He handed him the slip of paper and pulled off his shirt. "I want it here," he said, gesturing to his side, over his ribs.

"What the fuck is this? Is this a word or did you sneeze?"

Derek barely suppressed his growl. "Just. Do it."

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. It's your skin." He pulled on the black latex gloves and laid out the special inks and tattoo machine. "Let's get this over with."

***

Stiles was ass deep in physics homework when he heard the commotion. Lately, he'd taken to sitting on the porch of the Hale house while the pack trained, throwing out occasional jeers or encouragement depending on his mood. It had taken a very long time, some blood and a few tears but Scott had finally agreed to join Derek's pack. Oh, Scott still gave Derek a hard time or tried to go off on his own but they were working together ninety percent of the time.

Ok, seventy but they were working on it. Sometimes Scott went to Derek for advice. Sometimes, he even _listened_.

Really.  


_"You're going to college!"_

_Stiles jumped and nearly slid out of the chair in surprise. He hastily marked the page he was reading and crept towards the archway between the living room and foyer just in time to hear the back door slam._

_"What do you even care, Derek?"_

_Ahh, so Derek was finally having it out with Scott. Ms. McCall had cautiously approached him weeks ago to ask him to intervene because Scott was refusing to even consider continuing on after high school._

_"It's not like I'm the only one not going!" Scott panted heavily. "Isaac's not and I don't see you trying to force_ him _to go."_

_"Believe it or not, you are not Isaac. What Isaac does or does not do has no bearing on this conversation. This is about you and what's best for you." Derek paused, Stiles could practically see him trying to calm himself down._

_"Look," he continued in a much milder tone, "Isaac isn't going to a traditional four-year school, you know as well as I do he's not cut out for that, not ready, but he is going to school."_

_"What?" Scott sounded completely bewildered._

_"He likes cars," Derek said simply. "The guy he works for got him into a program at the community college, kind of a work-study thing. He's happy and if he's happy, so am I."_

_"Why didn't he tell me?" Stiles could hear the plaintive whine in Scott's voice. "We were gonna move in together in that apartment above the garage. It was gonna be awesome."_

_Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the stabbing feeling in his chest. He knew Scott and Isaac were close, had been since Allison finally called it quits for the last time, but it still hurt to hear Scott's plans for Life Without Stiles._

_"I don't know why he didn't tell you." Wow, Derek sounded tired. Stiles wondered just how long this argument had lasted. "But Scotty, you can't plan your life around other people."_

_Stiles crept quietly down the hall until he could peek into the kitchen. Derek had one hand clasped around the back of Scott's neck and was pressing their foreheads together. As he watched, Scott unclenched his fists and reached up to grip Derek's wrist._

_"I know. I just. I just don't know what I want to do. I don't know what to study or where to go. Hell, Derek, I don't even know if I'll get in anywhere. It's too much. And you and Mom just keep going on and on and I - I just don't know." Scott sounded exactly like he did the day he asked to sit with Stiles on the playground back in the second grade, small and scared, and Stiles' heart ached for his best friend._

_"Hey, relax." Derek shook him by the neck gently. "You don't have to decide any of that today. Talk to your mom, to your guidance counselor, I'm sure they'll be happy to help you." Derek pushed him away with a soft shove. "And you know, I'll always be here for you."_

_Scott leaned into him for another beat then straightened. "Yeah. I know."_

_Stiles ducked out of sight right before Scott tripped down the hall towards the front door. He leaned against the wall next to the stairs, absentmindedly tapping the skin right above his heart._

He was so lost in thought and the angry snarling and growls weren't all that unusual so Stiles didn't look up until he heard his name.

No, not _that_ name, his _name_.

Stiles' first reaction was to look for his grandmother because she was the only person who could pronounce his name. Hell, sometimes _Stiles_ couldn't even pronounce it.

He didn't see his grandmother but he did see that Scott had Derek backed up against the side of the house and sometime in the play-fighting one side of Derek's shirt had been ripped from shoulder to seam.

It took a little longer for his brain to catch up with his eyes because _chest_ but he finally caught on to what Scott was saying.

"-mierz tattooed on. Your. Chest?!"

Wait. What?

"What the Hell, man? Why the fuck do you have Stiles' name tattooed on your body? Don't you know that's _permanent_?!" Scott took a step back, head tilted like the confused puppy he really was. "Wait. Did you _know_ that was Stiles' real name? Or did you think it just looked cool?"

Derek gave Scott his you're an idiot look™ (patent pending). Even Isaac gave Scott a look. Though it was less _Oh, my God, how are you still breathing_ and more _aren't you just precious._

"C'mon, Scott. Let's give these two a minute."

Scott followed Isaac whining, "But I don't understand!"

Isaac's laughter floated back. "Well, you see Scotty, when a boy wolf loves another boy..."

Stiles tore his eyes away from their retreating backs and looked over to see Derek staring at him warily.

Stiles' throat clicked when he swallowed.

"What does he mean?" And whoa. Was that crackling shriek his voice? He cleared his throat and tried again, "what is he talking about, Derek?"

Derek opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again but nothing came out. Finally, he turned around and walked away.

"Derek?"

"Go home, Stiles." He threw back over his shoulder as he disappeared around the back of the house.

What? Go home? Stiles stood there dumbfounded for a moment, his mind reeling.

Name.

Tattoo.

_Derek._

Fuck going home. He was getting to the bottom of this right the fuck now.

He scrambled off the porch and took off, careening around the corner, only to stop short when he stumbled over Derek leaning against the side of the house with his head cushioned by his forearms.

Somewhere between the front porch and there, Derek had lost his tattered shirt and Stiles was caught by the flowing black script curving around Derek's ribs from his chest to his back.

His name.

He stepped to Derek's side and traced a hesitant finger across the ink.

Kazimierz  


Stiles had never really been comfortable with long silences, but skimming his finger over Derek’s sun-warmed skin, the silence felt more weighted. He grasped for a way to fill the silence and ease the rigid tension that radiated from Derek.  


"Did you know, my mother named me after her father? Well, kinda after her father. His name was 'Kasimierz', with an S. It means famous destroyer. She loved him but, yeah, he was kind of an asshole, or he could be. He was born in Poland just after the War and I guess there were certain things he had to do to survive, things he saw, that made him...hard. Mom believed a lot in names and what they meant so when I came along, she wanted to honor him but didn't want to risk me turning out like him." Stiles laughed quietly, still stroking Derek's side gently.

"So. she finally decided on Kazimierz," the complicated word rolled off his tongue _kah ZHEE myesh,_ "with a Z, which means keeping the peace. Just one little letter, even the pronunciation is the same, made all the difference. Crazy, right?"

When Derek shifted until he was facing Stiles with his shoulder against the wall, Stiles' hand fell away. "It suits you," he said softly.

“Dude, what are you smoking? I am anything but peaceful.” Stiles smiled wryly. “I tend to breed chaos wherever I go.”

Derek frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “Actually, that’s pretty true. My mistake.”

Stiles’ laugh was high pitched and shrill. “I kinda set myself up for that didn’t I?” He scrubbed his hand through his hair as his laughter died down. “So, uh, are we going to talk about this?” He asked, gesturing at Derek’s tattoo.

It was like watching a curtain drop across Derek’s face, all the emotion, the wariness, humor, teasing disappeared.

“Look, Stiles, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything? Derek, you have my name, my real name, a name no one other than my family knows, tattooed on your side and it doesn’t have to mean anything?” Stiles threw his hands up in frustration. “In what world does that not mean anything?”

“To you,” Derek said coolly. “It doesn’t have to mean anything to you.”

Stiles recoiled as though he’d been punched and all the air left his lungs. Even with Stiles’ name emblazoned on his skin, Derek couldn’t admit his feelings. Hell, he couldn’t admit he had feelings. As much as he loved Derek (and did he ever love Derek) this just wasn’t something he could deal with. He’d been left out of pack business for his own safety and his tentative flirtations brushed aside, that he could handle. _That_ he was used to, but this? This he couldn’t handle. If, even after getting Stiles fucking name tattooed on his chest, Derek couldn’t say to Stiles how he felt about him, there really wasn’t any reason for him to hang around. He looked at the ground, at the tree line, at the lumber stacked neatly under tarps, anywhere but at Derek. Finally, he nodded slightly then turned and walked away.

“Stiles.” He heard Derek call but he just waved over his shoulder and kept walking until he got to his Jeep and drove away.

***

The Jeep went one way and Derek went the other, taking off at a run through the woods.

He knew what Stiles thought. Stiles thought he was stunted and selfish and he wasn’t far from the mark. Every time he felt himself getting closer to anyone, especially Stiles, he heard Kate’s smoky voice whispering in his ear. He heard her teasing him about his possessiveness, praising him for his prowess, chanting his name when he fucked her.

He heard her laughter as she struck the match that killed his family.

Her voice, low and insidious, whispering _what if._ What if. What if he opened himself up again? What if he tried loving Stiles openly? What if he actually told him? What if he felt the same way? _What if he didn’t?_ What if he lost everything? Again. What if it was his fault? _Again._

He knew logically that Stiles was nothing like Kate. Stiles would rather hurt himself than hurt anyone else, he’d proven that time and again. Stiles did everything with his whole being. He laughed with his whole body, his smile lit his entire face, his stories usually took himself and two others to tell. Once he fell, Stiles would love with everything in him.

With actions and emotions that pure, Derek _knew_ Stiles was nothing like Kate but something held him back.

He’d gotten the tattoo for himself. He knew it was a risk, especially with how often his shirts were ripped or lost but it was the only way he could even begin to admit his feelings, even to himself. He’d spent hours practicing the flowing calligraphy until it matched the _Porcelain_ font he’d found, the deceptively fragile strokes belied the strength in its lines, just like Stiles. It had been cathartic. Each attempt washed away a bit more of the pollution Kate left behind until finally the script was perfect and, for a moment, he felt at peace.

The question became his mantra, _What if he doesn’t feel the same way?_

Derek ran faster.

Afternoon waned into evening by the time Derek finished trying to run from himself and he left the woods.

When he climbed up to the porch he noticed Stiles’ book bag and jacket, forgotten in his rush to leave. Derek was sure that Stiles had noticed but had too much pride to come back. He heaved a sigh and leaned down to pick up the scattered pens and notebooks, smiling at the half finished drawings and thoughts doodled in the margins of the paper. He placed the texts and notebooks carefully in the book bag from largest to smallest, just as he’d seen Stiles do. For all his distractibility and constant motion, Stiles could be very rigid in his routines; something about OCD and ADHD going hand-in-hand.

Derek hesitated on the porch, torn between going in to shower and leaving immediately to return Stiles’ bag. The mud caked on his shoes and the leaf litter drifting from his hair decided the matter for him. He placed the bag on the table just inside the door and went up to shower.

***

He stood in the shadows of the Stilinskis' yard and stared at Stiles’ open bedroom window. He could hear Stiles’ muted heartbeat over the pounding drone of the shower so he knew he could slip in, leave Stiles’ bag and go before Stiles caught him. He knew that’s what he should do but he hesitated.

_What if?_

Finally, he shook himself from his thoughts and made the easy climb to Stiles’ window.

He slid through the window at the same time Stiles walked in his room wearing faded, threadbare flannel pajama pants with a towel draped across his shoulders.

They both froze for a moment before Stiles half-shrugged and walked to his dresser to grab his phone. “Hey Derek.” He sounded completely unaffected but Derek could hear his heart pounding.

“I, um. I brought your stuff. You left it…earlier…” He trailed off.

Stiles barely glanced up from his phone. “Hmm? Wha? Oh. Yeah, thanks. I have another physics book but I really didn’t feel like redoing all that work.” He jabbed a few keys and tossed his phone carelessly over toward his desk. “So, yeah. Thanks.”

“Stiles, I…”

“It’s fine, Derek. Don’t worry about it.” Stiles stayed turned away, refusing to look at him.

Derek turned to leave, defeated. The opportunity to talk, really talk, to Stiles had passed.

_But what if?_ For once, he didn't hear Kate's voice. He heard Stiles. He couldn't leave without at least trying.

He took a deep breath and blurted out, “Your dad.”

Stiles turned and said, “What?”

“I was talking to your dad a few months ago and there’s a paper...thing on the wall downstairs.” Derek paused to catch his breath but plunged back in. Stiles was finally looking at him, even if he looked like he had no idea what Derek was talking about. “He saw me looking at it and said, said your mom had it framed because her dad was upset about the Z. I had no idea what he meant but, yeah.”

“Upset about the Z? What?” Suddenly, the light went on behind Stiles’ eyes. “Oh! You mean the name certificate in the office!” He grinned. “Yeah, I told you he could be kind of an ass.”

“I didn’t know he was talking about your name until he told me but…but she was right. Your name does suit you." Derek swallowed. “You do keep the peace, for all of us but especially…me. Just by being there, you remind us of our humanity. You remind the betas that they are more than werewolves. You remind them of their lives, their human lives, outside the pack. And you remind me...you've shown me that it's ok to have a life. It's ok to keep living."

Derek stood, fists clenched, staring at the floor. The longer the silence stretched, the louder the voices in his head screamed. The louder Kate screamed.

_He's just using you! He's only there for Scott! He's trying to let you down gently! He doesn't feel the same way!_

"Derek." Lost in the chaos in his mind, he didn't notice Stiles had moved until his hand touched his cheek. He jerked his head up until he met Stiles' wide brown eyes.

***

He could feel his heart pounding and he knew it must be deafening to Derek.

"I have to ask. Is that what I am to you? Just a safe harbor in the storm? Because, I gotta say, I'm glad I can be that for you but...I need more than that." Stiles looked at him beseechingly, water from his shower dripped from his hair and rolled down his neck until it disappeared in the towel.

He held his breath. He put himself out there, practically begging Derek to love him. Yeah, Derek said he needed him but did he even _want_ him? He was glad, thrilled, Derek thought of him as an anchor for the pack but he needed more.

He watched the emotions flicker across Derek’s face, some were there and gone before they even fully registered, before settling on hopeless frustration. 

Stiles felt his shoulders slump and let out a breathless huff of bitter laughter. “It’s cool, Derek. Don’t worry about it, I get it.” He grabbed the towel to scrub his dripping hair. If he scrubbed his eyes too, who was to know? 

When he finally looked up, Derek was no longer breathing and he wasn’t avoiding looking at Stiles anymore. Or more to the point, he wasn’t avoiding looking at the tattoo etched over Stiles’ heart.

Right.

That.

_The door chimed with Irene Adler’s soft orgasmic sigh and startled him from his nervousness._

_A figure draped across one of the padded chairs groaned, “Go away, puppy. I don’t need any Girl Scout cookies today.”_

_“I, uh, I called last week for an appointment?” Stiles walked slowly toward the glass counter. “I’m Stiles? Stiles Stilinkski. Are you–”_

_“I’m hungover, that’s what I am. Why the fuck did you book an appointment this early?”_

_Stiles smiled wryly. “Because three in the afternoon was the earliest appointment you had and I just wanted to fuck with your day.”_

_“You really wanna piss off the guy who’s about to jab you with needles for hours?” He snorted a laugh. “I like you, kid. Lemme see what ya got.”_

_Stiles shucked his book bag and nearly fell over himself trying to open it. “It’s just something I, uh, came up with...” He handed his sketchbook up to the decidedly amused tattoo artist. “Do you...um. Am I supposed to tell you what it means?”_

_He shook his head. “Nah. I really don’t care all that much.” He took the book without really looking at it. “I do really care about how old you are though, hand over your ID.”_

_“Dude, come on! Stilinski? The Sheriff’s kid? Do you really think I’d try to get a tatt before I was old enough?”_

_“Don’t care.” He gave the universal sign for grabby hands._

_Stiles sighed and handed over his license. “Just, ‘Stiles’ is my nickname so...yeah...”_

_He looked at the date of birth, confirming the baby-faced puppy was in fact eighteen, before looking at Stiles’ name._

_Kazimierz Stilinski._

_He slowly pulled Stiles’ sketchbook from under his arm and took a good look at the picture before looking back up at Stiles._

_“You sure about this?”_

_“Yeah. Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”_

_Jeremiah shrugged. “It’s your skin, man.”_

Stiles was pulled from his reverie when Derek touched the tattoo tentatively. “This...this is...”

Stiles shuddered and swallowed harshly, for the first time in his life at a loss for words. Finally, he ground out, “Yeah. It’s...yeah.”

One finger became two as Derek grew more comfortable tracing the stylized wolf. Stiles watched as Derek ran his fingers from the tip of one of the triskele’s spirals around to the next, to the next: Past, present, future.

“When did you get this?” Derek rested his palm on Stiles’ chest and finally looked up at him. “ _Why_ did you get this?”

Stiles could feel his cheeks heating and tried to looked away but Derek, for once, wouldn’t let him. Derek cradled his cheek with his other hand and forced Stiles to look at him. “I got it this summer, right after my birthday,” Stiles said quietly. “You were gone. Out of town or something; I’m not really sure.” He gave Derek a tremulous smile. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

Derek started to pull his hands away but Stiles grabbed his wrists, holding them in place. “Wait! Just wait a second. Jesus, Derek, just _wait_.

"It's not fair, you know. None of this is. Why should I be the one to tell you what it means but you won't..." Stiles shook himself and pressed his cheek into Derek's palm before sliding his hand up and twining their fingers together. "Ok. Ok, here goes.

"I know the triskele has a bunch of different meanings: Daughter, Mother, Crone or, like in your family, Alpha, Beta, Omega. To me, though, to me it represents past, present and future. It represents who we were, who we are and who we will be. We've been through a lot," he squeezed Derek's hand, "some more than others, but, as a whole, as a pack, we've been through Hell. The past, and the present really, are set; they’re closed, you can’t change them because it's who you are now and what made you who you are but the future is still wide open.” 

He swallowed thickly and looked hard at Derek. “You sure you want...?”

Derek squeezed his hand gently. “Stiles.”

“It’s you, you giant moron.” Stiles looked around like he’d never seen his room before, eyes lingering on the mess on the floor before lighting on the dark screen of his laptop, anywhere but at Derek. 

“What?”

“The wolf. It’s you.” He finally raised his eyes to meet Derek’s and Derek was taken aback at the abject _fear_ in his eyes.

“I’m not...sure what you mean.” This time when Derek pulled away, Stiles let him go.

Stiles could feel his fear melting and smiled somewhat bitterly, nodding to himself because he’d expected this. “You always do this. You always want to know _everything right now dammit!_ but as soon as feelings are involved, you run. You can’t do this. You can’t force me to tell you how I feel then run.”

“I’m not –” Derek tried to answer but Stiles just kept talking, ignoring the interruption.

“You _are_. You _always_ run unless there’s some immediate drooly, snarly, toothy, gross thing trying to kill us and that’s fine. Whatever. But you can’t make me tell you something then head for the window because it makes you uncomfortable.

“Because it _is_ you, the wolf, I mean. _You_ protected us in the past. Even when you couldn’t stand us, you still protected us. You still protect us now. _You_ protected our pasts and our present and because of _you_ we have a future.”  
Stiles watched as Derek visibly fought his instinct to launch himself out the window and run howling into the night. When he finally looked up, his face was hard and Stiles’ heart sank as he watched Derek walk to the window.

He watched Derek raise a shaking hand and slowly slide the window closed.

Stiles’ relieved smile slowly fell the longer it took Derek to turn from the window. “Just go,” he said softly, resigned. “Just. Whatever. We’ll go back to pretending that, God, I don’t even know, we hate each other or something."

Stiles turned to leave his bedroom and didn’t turn back when he heard the soft sound of his window opening.

***

Derek made it as far as the treeline at the edge of the property before he slammed to a stop. He fisted his hands in his hair and _dammit. Didn’t he just do this?_

Stiles was right. He’d spent the better part of the last decade chasing ghosts hoping for absolution for a crime he didn’t commit. It’d taken almost ten years but he’d finally come to terms with the fact he was just as much Kate’s victim as his mother and father and brothers and cousins. And Peter.

_I really did a number on you, didn’t I, baby?_ Kate’s voice sounded so real, Derek fought the urge to look behind him, half afraid he’d see her lounging against a tree, half afraid he wouldn’t. _You had him begging. He was **begging** you to love him and what’d you do? What’d the big, bad Alpha do? You **ran**. He was begging you and you ran._

_Pathetic._

Over the sound of her imagined laughter, Derek heard Stiles’ window slide shut and the soft _snick_ of the lock turning.

_What am I doing?_

His scream was pure, human frustration. 

Almost immediately, he heard three separate howls in response and moments later, his phone lit with texts from the rest of his pack. Everyone, except Stiles.  
He sent out a mass text telling them to stand down before looking at Stiles’ darkened window. 

He came here for a reason. He had. He was finally, _finally_ ready to open himself up again. Finally ready to scrub the last remnants of Kate Argent from his memories, even before finding Stiles’ tattoo, but the moment he’d felt out of his depth, his instincts kicked in and he ran. Old habits die hard. 

No. Not again. He refused to run away this time. He deserved more. _Stiles_ deserved better than that. He pushed himself away from the trees and made his way across the yard to the often forgotten side-door next to the garage that lead into the laundry room.

He found Stiles sprawled across his bed, still shirtless, pecking away on his laptop.

Without looking away from the screen, Stiles said quietly, the barest trace of bitterness in his voice, “I didn’t think you’d come back. Well, at least not until you were finished wallowing in your manpain for a few days. Weeks. Whatever.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his, now dry, hair. When he pulled his hands away, they flopped against the bed as though all the stress and worry and just _life_ had finally gotten to be too much for him to carry. “I really don’t want to do this again. Especially tonight.” He leaned his head back against the headboard, exposing the long line of his throat. “I’m tired. I’m just...tired.”

"Everything I said was true. you do anchor the pack and you are a reminder, maybe the best reminder, of our humanity but," Derek took deep breath and gestured to his side. "But this is more than that. It means more than just that. Just being around you drowns everything else out."

Stiles pushed his laptop to the side and sat up slowly. "What do you mean?"

Derek struggled to put words to how Stiles made him feel. "When I'm with you...I can't, I can't hear _her_ anymore. When I'm with you, there's nothing more important in the world than seeing you smile. I finally feel at peace, maybe for the first time ever, and I just. I just wanted to hold on to that."

“Don’t do that. You can’t tell me what you think I want to hear just because you’re afraid I’m going to abandon you. I’m not. I won’t. I’ve put too much time and effort and _blood_ into keeping all of us alive to ever abandon you.” Now the bitterness was more than evident, it washed over Derek and left him reeling.

“What?” Derek said shakily, panicked. ”What? No! That’s not what - I don’t think that. I know you wouldn’t leave us. I,” He stopped. “I’m not telling you what I think you want to hear; I’m telling you how I feel. This isn’t - this isn’t a game to me because for the first time in ten years _I don’t want to run_.”

When the echo of his roar died, they were left in an uneasy silence. Stiles stared at Derek, lips thinned and eyebrows raised and Derek focused on the ground.  
 _Pathe-_ Derek ruthlessly quashed Kate’s mocking voice. 

“She really did a number on you, didn’t she?” Stiles mused, almost to himself.

Derek still flinched, the words too similar to what he’d imagined just a bit earlier.

Stiles saw him flinch. Of course he did; he didn’t miss much. As many times as Derek or his father or Scott (the irony in that didn’t go unnoticed) accused him of being unobservant, he was very in tune with his surroundings.

“Hey, no. No. I didn’t mean it like that.” He scooted over on the bed and held out his hand. “C’mere.”

Derek didn’t take his hand but eased himself to sit stiffly on the edge of the bed. Behind him, he heard Stiles huff in frustration and felt the bed move as Stiles shifted around.  
“It’s always the hard way with you.” Stiles muttered before wrapping an arm around his chest and grunting as he pulled him farther onto the bed. When Stiles deemed him far enough on the bed, he twisted and manhandled him until he was reclined against the headboard, mirroring Stiles’ position.

“Look, I - “ There was a brief pause, then Stiles leaned over him and clicked off the lamp. The room was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the streetlights outside.

“Better,” he mumbled to himself, before rolling on his side to face Derek.

“Look.” He said again, warm breath ghosting over Derek’s temple. “I don’t know what happened; I don’t think I want to know what happened but I do know enough to guess and, dude, I know it was bad.” Stiles snorted to himself, “Bad? Way to master the understatement, Stilinski.”

Derek felt his lips twitch upwards almost involuntarily.

“The point is, what she did to you was,” he paused for a moment. “There are literally no words in the English language to encompass what she did to you, none, but you can’t let that, let her, stop you from living.”

“Is this the _living well is the best revenge_ speech?” Derek asked wryly.

“Nah, dude. I think that only works if the other person is alive.” Stiles put his hand on Derek’s chest and pushed himself up until his face was hovering over Derek’s.  
“It’s almost the same concept, though,” he said seriously. “Don’t live well in spite of what she did to you; live well because _you deserve it_.”

Derek lunged up and, with one hand around the back of his neck, pulled Stiles’ lips down to his. Stiles flailed and fell heavily on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Derek grunted but tilted his head so his mouth fit to Stiles’ full lips. He kissed him until Stiles settled against him and tentatively swiped his tongue across Derek’s lips.

Derek pulled back to rest his forehead against Stiles’ and whispered, “That is why your name suits you. _That_ is why I need you.” He felt Stiles’ arms tighten around his back as rolled them over until he was half on top of Stiles. “You never give up, on anybody.”

Instead of his usual quip, Stiles blushed and looked away.

“Hey.” Derek nudged his jaw with his nose. “What are you thinking?”

“It’s just…you need me?” Stiles said hesitantly.

Derek pulled back, confused. “Well, yeah.”

Stiles’ long fingers carded through his hair and he tugged gently until Derek leaned down into his kiss.

It was hesitant, tentative, not like Stiles at all, but it fit the moment.

“I need you, too.” He whispered when the kiss ended. 

The blunt honesty humbled Derek. Sure, people needed him, had always needed him for one thing or another -- his pack needed him as an alpha, his family had needed him as a son, a brother, Peter had needed him as a tool for his revenge -- but no one had ever needed _him_ , just him. Overwhelmed, he kissed Stiles again but where their first kisses were shy, this kiss was deep and dirty, open-mouthed and needy. 

He swallowed Stiles’ whimpers and answered by moaning. He could feel Stiles’ hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt before he shoved it up and out of the way to slide his hands up Derek’s back and across his sides.

With one last kiss, he sat up quickly, grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged it over his head, not caring when he heard the fabric tear. He didn’t so much toss it aside as let it fall from his nerveless fingers when Stiles reached up and traced the outline of his name scrawled across his side.

Stiles stared at his fingers as he traced his name before he tore his eyes away. He looked up to see Derek’s dazed expression, eyes locked on Stiles’ hand. He smiled mischievously and pinched Derek’s side sharply, just under the tail of the _z_.

His laugh at Derek’s incredulous look died in his throat when Derek growled and lunged forward. He pinned both of Stiles’ wrists to the pillow above his head with one hand and stroked down Stiles’ arm to his shoulder and over his chest, tickling his armpit on the way. He followed his hand with his lips, teeth and tongue, mouthing, biting and licking until he landed at the teardrop shaped wolf etched over Stiles’ heart.

He laved Stiles’ nipple with the flat of his tongue before he nosed back up to the wolf and nipped gently. 

Stiles let out a strangled moan and tried to thrust his rigid dick against Derek’s thigh, the awkward angle making the friction he needed impossible.  
Derek shushed him with a deep kiss and released his wrists. Stiles immediately took advantage of his freedom by wrapping his arms around Derek while Derek's hand drifted along Stiles' side until he curled his fingers in the waistband of his worn pajama pants.

"Is this okay?" He whispered, panting heavily against Stiles' lips.

"Yes. Yes, _hnng, yes_. Please, Derek. _Please_." Stiles' voice cracked as he frantically nodded.

Derek started to pull the worn elastic waist up and over Stiles' cock, staring eagerly as it was slowly uncovered. He ran his thumb over Stiles' dark red glans as it was exposed, eliciting a combination shiver and sob from Stiles. He tugged at Stiles' pants faster, needing to see all of him, only to release it in surprise, the strained elastic snapping back harshly against Stiles' dick, when he saw foreskin bunched just under the head. 

Stiles was uncut.

"Holy motherfucking shit. Um, _ow_. What the hell, Derek?" Stiles curled around his wounded dick, pride, whatever.

Derek wasn't listening, still reeling that Stiles was uncircumcised. He tentatively reached over and wrapped his hand around Stiles' cock. He stroked gently and was fascinated to watch the foreskin covering and revealing, covering and revealing.

It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before - he, himself, was uncut - but this was different, this was _Stiles_ whimpering, fucking up into Derek's fist. This was Stiles, who moaned brokenly when Derek let go of his dick to fumble with his own jeans, popping the button and pulling the zipper just enough to shove them down his thighs, all the while staring at the tip of Stiles' cock just peeping out of the foreskin.

Derek batted Stiles' hands away from his cock and moved to cover him completely, settling between Stiles' legs and silencing his protests with his lips and tongue. He felt Stiles' hands palm his ass and pull him down against him as Derek reached down to line up their cocks.

Derek wrapped his hand around their cocks and tugged, moaning quietly when he realized his fingers didn't quite touch around their combined girth.

Stiles shifted his foot up to rest flat against the mattress and twined his other ankle around the back of Derek's thigh, using the leverage to thrust up, sliding across Derek's cock. 

Rather than jacking them, Derek kept his hand still and fucked down into his fist at the same pace as Stiles thrust up. The friction from not using lube was just bordering on too much when Stiles rubbed his hand over the heads, smearing pre-come on his palm, and wrapped it around them.

Derek all but collapsed on top of him, burying his face in Stiles' neck and fucked down into their fists. He could feel his balls draw up tightly and his rhythm faltered erratically as he chased his orgasm. Just before he tipped over the edge, he felt Stiles stiffen, his hand clinched almost painfully around them as Stiles' dick pulsed, coming in messy spurts all over his stomach. Derek bit down harshly on Stiles' neck when his own muscles locked in place and he came with a muffled groan.

They lay there breathless and sticky as they shivered through the aftershocks with panted kisses that never quite connected.

Stiles' legs flopped bonelessly against the bed. "Wow."

Derek snorted softly but said, "Yeah." Because, really, that summed it up perfectly. He groaned and pushed himself over to lay beside Stiles but reached over to curl their fingers together, not quite ready to lose contact with him.

Stiles kissed Derek gently before rolling over to his stomach and fishing around on the floor next to his bed. "Got it!" he crowed triumphantly and rolled back over with Derek's shirt clutched in his hand. 

Derek rolled his eyes but shifted to let Stiles scrub at the drying come on his stomach.

“So, does this mean I’m your mate?” Stiles said as he chucked the tee shirt to the laundry pile.

“My what?”

Stiles rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on Derek’s chest. “Your mate. You know, soul mate, life partner, _mate for life_ and all that jazz.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Stiles, I’m a werewolf; not a penguin.”

“So that’s two things where the internet has failed me.”

“Two things?”

“Yeah, mating for life and knotting.” Stiles slid off Derek’s chest onto his own pillow. “I mean,” he yawned, “werewolves knot their mates, so if mating isn’t real, there’s no way _knotting_ is. It’s not like _you_ have a knot, right?”

Derek pulled him across the small bed until Stiles’ back was flush against his chest and slung both arm and leg across him. “Go to sleep, Stiles.”

_Bossy_ was slurred quietly and Derek tucked his nose against the side of Stiles’ neck and closed his eyes, and for the first time, didn’t hear Kate.  
Suddenly, Stiles was wide awake. “Derek, you, uh, you never answered me about the ‘knotting’ thing.”

Derek smiled in the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah. that's it. Lemme know what you think or if you see any mistakes where I ignored Sapph and Donner.
> 
> If you're interested:
> 
> [Derek's Tattoo](http://www.dafont.com/porcelain.font?text=Kazimierz&psize=l).
> 
> [Stiles' Tattoo](http://www.etsy.com/listing/112267821/teen-wolf-hale-triskelion-necklace?ref=sr_gallery_5&ga_search_query=teen+wolf&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=US&ga_ref=auto1&ga_search_type=all).


End file.
